


The AoT Collection

by Rhigama



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU will be labeled., Adult Situations, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, But it's in one. xD, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Inappropriate Humor, Kissing, Lemon, Lime, NSFW, Other, Possessive Behavior, Reader Insert, Romance, Sexual Situations, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Teasing, ZERO Descriptive Blanks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhigama/pseuds/Rhigama
Summary: [   Get em' while they're hot.   ]This is what'll become an little stack of one-shots. Varying lengths, anything can happen, tags will be added as we go. Pairings will be included in each chapter title.READER X VARIOUS
Relationships: Reader x Eld Gin, Reader x Erwin Smith, Reader x Levi Ackerman, Reader x Miche Zacharias
Comments: 29
Kudos: 87





	1. Made of Glass | [Erwin Smith]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, at least he didn't have to kiss something more regrettable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhiga: Here’s the deal…you’re rich. Your real surname is Fritz (but no one will find out xD)…actually of the real bloodline, not the same as the false man on the throne. ‘Eir’ (eye-eer) means ‘peacefulness, mercy’. Fritz means ‘peace’. This is how your little branch of the family survived without being murdered in their sleep. Also, I don’t do descriptive blanks.
> 
> ‘Ser’ = ‘Sir’. I borrowed this from A Song of Ice and Fire. And I figure in a posh Mitras accent, ‘sir’ probably sounds like ‘ser’ anyhow.
> 
> LETS THROW SOME MONEY AROUND WOOOO dammit I’m so bored…

Made of Glass

Paperwork.  
An abominable, ungodly heap of the stuff, rising above his desktop by a good foot and a half.

This is what happens when they go on expeditions: way too much freaking paperwork. Or that is what the Lance Corporal says. He would rather wipe his ass with it. Erwin had to admit the shortstack had a point. This was an especially bad one, sending people and resources once more into the breach and having perhaps a third of either return.

It was at this late hour that Erwin Smith, Commander of the Scout Regiment, was sliding back into his desk chair with a curse on his breath. The numbers don’t lie. They wouldn’t have enough of _anything_ to go around, courtesy of Hange’s latest titan hunting travesty. The SC always stood on the precipice of financial ruin when the Crown saw fit to give the Military Police more capital than they could spend, as a result Nile Dawk was actually using a chunk of it to purchase homes for his officers outright. Erwin stared at the empty glass on his desk, contemplating how nice it'd feel to fling it at a wall if he were partial to such fits of pique. How the fuck could he afford to pull in more recruits? The 104th is slated to complete its training very soon, and he didn’t think they’d be able to handle outfitting them if any decided to join. The Scouts can’t afford to turn anybody away.  
Instead of chucking his glass at the door, the Commander resolved himself to get up and get ready. A little pandering might be in order. He would have to bring Hange, a few of her best and brightest if they could be spared, and for those that needed to be impressed by brute force…the Special Operations Squad, whom he did not appreciate dragging into the quagmire of Mitrassian court intrigue. It _was_ that time of the year anyhow. The three regiments get together and request more funds, the MPs usually get the majority with Dot Pyxis securing a win for the Garrison Regiment close behind, leaving very little for the smallest regiment of the three which others argued was only fair. Take heart, as there are always nobles who might part with their ill-gotten gains. Hange would be excited to scare up some funding for her experiments, but she was more likely to terrify said nobles.

No, he’d need Levi to keep her in check, which he does well enough without being asked. Being surrounded by his finest titan killers meant Erwin felt he had a better shot than last year. And the year before that. And…oh, whatever.

This is how it was to be. They would travel to Mitras within Wall Sina and the conference would go the way it always has. Erwin was only Commander for a few years now, but by year two he had a perfect understanding of why this always goes so poorly for the Scouts: the Military Police manage to keep up a very pretty façade, and with a small measure of boot licking get what they want so they can keep on upgrading things they never use ‘because we desire to provide you fine lords and ladies with the highest level of protection’. Levi’s scoff spoke for them all. The veterans following Erwin and Hange around were not happy to bear witness to this whole mockery.

When proceedings stopped off midstream for a break, they’d filter out into a flowery courtyard with servants roaming in between, bearing drinks and canapes on sterling silver platters. Petra accepted one to look polite, but she was trying not to quiver with outrage as much as the rest of her squad. Hange was off chattering a diplomat’s ears off in a corner, and Erwin turned to have a word with his people in private when a voice cut across. “They never bloody change, do they?” A strong yet feminine voice kept neatly folded into its Northern Mitras accent demanded attention. You were right behind Erwin’s back, placing an emptied champagne flute onto a passing tray.

“Lady Eir,” One bodyguard off to your side began to protest with every warning he could muster in his tone. You waved him off. “The lot of you must be crawling out of your skin. I know I am; these proceedings are a joke.” You remarked to the group. Erwin turned fully towards you. He never met you directly but was introduced to your Uncle two years ago. He heard that making people uncomfortable was a hobby of yours to vex the man when he was alive. Uncle Martin was your only relative. He desperately attempted to find you a husband and failed. You were his sole heir. “Whatever else they might be, they are necessary.” Erwin said, finding his voice as the wheels in his head spun.

“I’ve heard what your Section Commander had to say about the importance of research, forgive me but she doesn’t seem to understand how politics work. What she’s managed is to frighten off investors.”

 _’And yet, here YOU are.’_ Erwin thought to himself. “You’ve spoken personally with Section Commander Hange, Lady Eir?”

“I don’t know if ‘spoke’ is the right term, she mostly flitted about like a nutjob.” You drawled. “But the general premise makes sense. Know your enemy that you might take it apart.” You cocked your head, better able to peek around the Commander’s broad shoulder to the Special Ops Squad right behind him. You winked. “Except I doubt you’ve much difficulty with doing so as is. Shall we talk where there’s a few less idiots?” Erwin raised an eyebrow. You detected his hesitance right away. Your tone dropped a few degrees, becoming more serious. “I know why you’re here, Commander. I am offering you and yours the opportunity to walk away from this madhouse and talk about it civilly.”

A bell tolled, and the moderator called for people to make their way back inside in an orderly fashion.  
“Make your choice. Waste valuable time here where you are less likely to be heard or come along with me. Difference between yours truly and _them_ is that the former is open minded.” You smiled, slid into a partial curtsy out of formality, and turned away without awaiting an answer. Your dress seemed to be made of pure gold silk; luminous, airy, entirely too expensive. There’s money to be had. Smith’s eyes narrowed slightly at your back. Hange appeared at his elbow a split second later. 

“PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE say we’re going!!!” She hissed. “I overheard EVERYTHING.” 

“Tch…of course we’re going, Shitty Glasses. Do you have any idea how loaded that woman is?” Levi knew, and he already knew Erwin’s decision because he’d be an idiot otherwise; and Erwin Smith is no fool. Levi was aware of House Eir's wealth from days in the Underground when his gang got requests to infiltrate the mansion. He did research and never accepted the contracts…the reward never outweighed the risk for being too close to MP HQ, and what he wanted was a ticket out of that underworld dump. But not if it meant rotting in a cage.  
Erwin watched you vanish around a corner, probably headed to your carriage, knowing full well that he planned to go. He contemplated leaving the others behind, but now he couldn’t since you invited them. The Commander did not want to have to stoop to ass-kissing to get what they needed, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. It was now fully expected of him. These people with him wanted a win for their Regiment as desperately as he did. Even if it is a _financial_ win, that could lead to further victories. 

They’d get the information from the bodyguard lingering behind at your request and be led to your home. 

The group now rode up a cobbled road bordered by towering hedges without a single twig out of place, where gilded gates welcomed them at the end. These opened to reveal a vast estate beyond a fountain pool full of lily pads and lotuses, with jewel-bright dragonflies flitting through. There were signs of remodeling along one wing of the mansion. They didn’t get to linger and check it out though, as they were escorted inside quickly, every single one feeling completely out of place as they went. They would rather be home at HQ, training, planning, something ANYTHING but this. Yet here they are, suffering with their Commander. Hange squirmed like a worm on a hook when Erwin ordered her not to touch anything. Everything looked too expensive, and she is a bull in a china shop.

“Don’t worry about that as much, Section Commander.” Your voice came from above as you descended the grand staircase. “My Uncle had the tackiest sense of taste. Break if all if you’d like, this only gives me a better reason to remodel.” You stepped off the flight of stairs and smiled. “Feel free to explore and make yourselves comfortable. There’s food and drink to be had, whatever you need you’ve only to ask.” You tilted your head inquisitively at Erwin, who nodded once and followed to a side room. Hange scooted aside to examine the very anatomically correct statue of a goddess chiseled out of alabaster. Oluo stared at its rack. Petra smacked him over the head. Levi ignored them and wandered off with Eld and Gunther, who were relieved to see that the whole place was neat as a pin given the shorty they traveled with and his general reaction to a mess.

The door behind them was soon closed, marking that the conversation was intended to be private after all. “So Commander.” You began, motioning around for him to sit if he liked. He took the wordless cue and did so after a moment of glancing around, calculating in his head what this kind of wealth could mean for them. “How did you find the conference?”

“Boring, typical, and unlikely to be of use.”

“My feelings exactly.” You settled across from him, moving ever with a regal bearing. “I’ve been dragged to these since I could walk, they’re a chore for anyone. But much as I’d love to bash the process, doing so benefits no one. Tell me, Commander, what would your Regiment be capable of if you had as much funding as the Military Police?”

He figured you meant rhetorically. “More funding pans out to more manpower. Every soldier needs appropriate training, gear, a well-trained warhorse, proper lodgings and a stable diet to remain healthy and functional.”

“And beyond that?”

“As you are aware, Section Commander Hange intends to carry out her experiments where possible to deepen our understanding of our enemy. Being able to do so will translate to recapturing lost territory. With more land, there will be less strain on the few areas remaining able to produce food.”

“Land, Gear, training, food, horses…am I to guess repairs as well?” You were now writing on a notepad that was closed until he began speaking. Numbers scrawled out beside a list of words, these figures were evidently coming straight from your head. “Yes.” He said hesitantly, watching you. His brow began to furrow at the lengthening figures on paper. Was this happening? Was a noble taking them seriously right now? Too many believed that the Scouts were just feeding the titans and succeeding in nothing. That’s hard to hear when he’s the one signing off on hundreds of death notices, but…for a second here, Smith allowed himself to hope. He might not be high born, but he presented well. He has no shortage of charisma. The issue was never -him-. It was everything else, going back before he took his office.

“Right then. Was there anything further to consider?”

He blinked at you. “Why would you be interested in assisting the Survey Corps?”

“The Military Police claim to be our protectors more than you, but they do little more than stand in one spot and attempt to look pretty every day. The Garrison Regiment is seen acting more practical, but they appear to receive an amount directly proportional to their duties and want for very little, Commander Smith.”

He liked how his name and title sounded on your tongue.

“The Scouting Legion is how we strike back as a race of small frail things. I certainly couldn’t do what you can, ser. Though I’d have loved to join once.” Erwin was borderline tickled to hear that. A lady like you, in the Survey Corps? Mitrassian nobles rarely join. “What prevented you from enlisting, if I may ask?”

“My condition, I’m afraid. I was born with an illness where my bones are brittle. I have broken them no less than 67 times in my short life, even not attempting to exert myself.” You laughed airily, driving away the clouds brought on by this unexpectedly sad thing he just heard. “There’s simply nothing for it, Commander. Would that I could, but my money shall have to do in place of this fragile body of mine.” Erwin smiled for you but offered no pity. He knew of this disease from his father. He mentioned that it was more common among blue bloods, and that their inbreeding created genetic imperfections against which there was no defense. He couldn’t help feeling a little sad for you but wasn’t about to say so. How hard is it to live like that? You could be the death of yourself long before any titans made their way through Sina.

When Erwin didn’t launch into the typical platitudes you’d receive from telling literally anybody the same thing, your smile only widened. “I will help you, ser, in the only way I can. But I see you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Is that correct?”

“I’m afraid it is. Nothing comes without a cost, it’s an unfortunate reality.” Erwin said.  
“If I were to ask for something in return would this ease your mind?”

He thought about that, watching you carefully stand and move to sit down next to him. You were slender and fragile, like a living glass figurine whereas he was tall, solid, seemingly invulnerable. When Erwin nodded, you glanced back to note that the door was still shut. “What I ask of you then is a serious request, Commander.”

“And what would that be, Lady Eir?”

“A kiss.” You smirked almost connivingly. For a second there you did not seem so breakable. “And depending on how good it is will directly influence how much I give in turn.”

He was frozen. “Did I hear correctly?” Erwin asked, but your unchanging expression was the response he needed. He heard right. A kiss. A kiss is what you chose to ask for. Not something normal like having an outpost named after you, or anything of the type…a _kiss_. And if he wanted enough money, it better be good. 

He almost laughed despite himself, at least you were not asking for something that’d become an irreparable mark on his pride. The Commander turned, cradled your chin in one large hand, tilted his head and planted one on you. His lips were warm and firm against your own, not chapped, not too much pressure as he was concerned he’d somehow break your neck. Erwin settled for gently scooping your delicate frame against his much larger one to get into a better position, and had what you might consider a cute idea: if one kiss gets some nice funding, what would happen after thoroughly making out? This wasn’t so bad. Might as well give that a shot, right? If nothing else, he could say he spent an intimate moment in the company of a beautiful woman.

Continuous kisses left you easily more breathless than he was. Extorting the Commander for seven minutes in heaven turned out to be the best thing you’ve done in a while. Less so for your banking account. It is also the most _expensive_ thing you’ve done in a while.

When you parted, breathless, you were startled at how close your bodies remained and that he didn’t recoil in disgust. You felt very much at this man’s mercy, with his firm chest against yours as both rose and fell. He was watching, waiting, wondering why you were staring at him helplessly with slightly dilated pupils. Erwin realized then that he hadn’t lost his touch.  
“Deal’s a deal.” Your voice came out soft and breathy. He decided that he liked hearing you this way as well. “If you’d be so kind, I need a moment.” 

He thought of diving in for the kill, but the Commander knew he made his point already. His quicksilver smile haunted you when he obliged, getting up and heading out the door while you collected your nerves. 

The door closed beside him, and he turned to see none other than the Lance Corporal waiting for him. 

“How’d it go, _slut?"_


	2. Agape  |  [Levi Ackermann]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are forged by our past. The bonds we create are precious. Some more so than others.  
> What Levi needed was one who finally understood him for who and what he is, who accepts that, who can live with it, and any risks associated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhiga: I'm not sure if this is considered fluff or romance, but it carries an element of seriousness. Levi gets kind of bossy, just an FYI. In case, y'know, somebody's got an issue with that but if you like Levi, I'm guessing it's not a problem. xD
> 
> CLARIFICATIONS:
> 
> \+ _'Agape'_ , for those who don’t know it yet, is ‘selfless love’.  
> \+ This is the 55th expedition, that is not a typo. I wanted to do this before the brats!  
> \+ Soldiers using ‘mam’ is also not a typo. It’s a female version of ‘sir’ instead of going with ‘ma’am’.  
> \+ Fair warning this might be a tease, but it’s about agape love, not sex.

Agape

There are people in this world who are consumed and motivated by selfishness. This is otherwise referred to by most as, ‘looking after number one.’ That’s human nature, really…what’s so wrong about that? 

Every emotion in our spectrum has, in turn, its own absurd rainbow of degrees. So and so forth, the human experience is subjective and infuriating in every way it knows how, constantly finding new avenues to confound its mortal namesake. You mused upon this now and then. Today it was especially difficult to focus. The expedition would be returning. 

“Excuse me, doc—uh, S-Section Commander?” 

“Mm?” Your neck was craned, hand scribbling over a clipboard balanced over a knee. 

“They’ve returned, mam.”

You were writing a few last details, not removing your gaze from rows of your own handwriting to acknowledge the trainee. He was standing with his heels together and his fist to his chest in a shaky salute, you could see that much in your periphery. When you finished and placed the clipboard by the bed of a snoozing patient, this is when you raised your head and scrutinized the man. “From your expression, I’d wager they’re in worse shape than usual.” You mused aloud to him. He was quivering. He’d seen ghosts today.

 _’Still wet behind the ears.’_ Instead, “With me, Private.” You got up, white coat flashing in your haste. He lowered his fist and followed faithfully, eyes lowered to the blue and white crest emblazoned on your lab coat. He was from the Garrison regiment himself, but their physicians were even fewer. Garrison and Military Police might be nicely fed by virtue of being loved better by the fat cats in Mitras, but Commander Smith claimed a solid win for the Survey Corps by getting the nod to step up their medical program. Any given time a Regiment Commander can have up to four Section Commanders serving as his or her adjutants. You were Smith’s third Section Commander, but also the first one to ever oversee medical affairs exclusively. Hange Zoe deals with Research, Miche Zacharias had more of a generalized purpose. Erwin caught some flak for his decisions (i.e. ‘don’t we waste enough of our taxes?’), but the usefulness of this new unit proved itself fast.

By Sina, it was certainly a necessity. Though you’d heard several jokes that it might be smarter to conjure up a division of undertakers, you sweetly offered for a couple of those wisecracking soldiers to spend the night in a morgue unit and tell you how they felt in the morning. 

With their supervisor’s assistance, they escaped having to endure such a fate.

SCMU, the Survey Corps Medical Unit, had its original place in the old scout castle and branch clinics usually manned by your officers. Your original office was back at that very fortress, but currently you were staying in Trost, where you were waiting for the 55th Sortie to return. In the mean time you’d been under orders by Commander Smith to carry out joint training exercises for the Garrison and Military Police regiments to partake in. The MPs had far fewer participants than usual, especially this far off from Mitras. They did not need _as_ many soldiers trained in triage or how to slap on a simple bandage for that matter, there were plenty of physicians residing within Sina’s boundary. The Garrison regiment on the other hand was far more susceptible to ‘equipment-related owies’, as a certain bespectacled oddball referred to them. Said oddball was about to ride in with her comrades.

There would be a bit longer before they came your way, but this was generally the Regiment’s first stop after returning. You paced the halls, calling out orders to make ready. Freshly minted cadets scrambled, a jumble of wings, roses and unicorns. Full-fledged medics moved about their tasks with calmer, purposeful urgency; most of those wore the same wings you did. But as everything was kept sharply in focus around here, there was not as much of a mad dash as had been before this division was birthed. 

It was upon finding that they were taking longer than usual that you returned to your office to get some paperwork done as long as you could get away with it. The paperwork for higher ups is unending. 

Do you want to know what purgatory is? It’s a stack of papers hip-high that constantly refills. It’s the wrist cramp from writing ceaselessly at 4am with patients to attend to at 5 on a 48-hour stint. This is a purgatory you know quite well, but you patiently handled the strain and moved on like the professional you are.

Three quarters of an hour later, a knock barely came at your office door and a familiar man stepped inside, looking filthier than he must be pleased with, though still hardly touched for having been on an expedition. His movements were fluid and unhindered as always. You raised your focus from the papers and smiled easily. “Welcome back, Captain.” You greeted. 

“Those brats are making a disaster of the place.” He drawled, watching you. You stood, removing the lab coat you had over the back of your chair before sitting earlier. Levi’s steel gaze skimmed around and he discreetly inhaled, catching the humid scent of bergamot tea. “Do you want to stay in my office and cool off?” You asked him, sliding one arm through a sleeve. He looked up after a moment. 

Being a doctor, you were extremely strict about keeping things clean to prevent infection. Also firmly believing in the concept of ‘leading by example’, this meant your office was spotless, as was this whole clinic. You did not spend every waking minute of your spare time scouring things sterile, but then, you didn’t _have_ to providing everybody pulled their weight and adhered to guidelines. 

There was a three strikes rule. If a medical trainee couldn’t keep to the basics, then they were kicked out of the program. You refused to tolerate such behavior unless there was a damned good explanation, and for now you could afford to be selective. For the past year, there’s been a waiting list.

In this office, Levi Ackermann felt rather calm after so many days of travel. It was miles better than returning to a mess. You poured some bergamot-black tea and approached him, where he’d placed himself on a couch against the wall. “At least take a minute for yourself and have a drink. I’ll go attend to the others.”

“Erwin’s among the injured. He’s in a separate room.” Levi said, accepting the tea. The scent was unmistakable, this is the mix of leaves and dried citrus you’d been hooked on since a stay in Mitras. He liked this blend as well, his standard favorite black tea with a twist. “Then I’ll see to him right away.” For a second you watched him take a sip from behind his always-peculiar overhand grip of the teacup, gaze then edging across what you could see of his form to be sure this man was not injured. He made no indication of disapproval at the tea. Your mouth twitched into a warm smile before you leaned down, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth that you knew he would not return. “I missed you, jackass.”

“Tch, don’t you have patients to worry about?”  
“Shut up and drink your tea.” You said and pointedly wiped a smudge from his sharp jawline, turning your hand to show the smear on your finger with a note of distaste. He let this happen, watching your expression impassively. “You’re a disaster. Don’t be going near any of my patients. No matter how bad you feel the need to stomp on some of them.” And you turned to leave, failing to catch the vague smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. He missed you too, but you’d never hear that from him.

The halls took you towards were the commotion was. “What’s the status?” You halted by one of your own adjutants, Captain Killian Grey. He was washing blood off his hands from tying up a wound. You took this chance to wash your own hands too, with the smudge from Levi's jaw on your finger. “We’ve run out of open cots already and there’s a lot in need of surgery, I sent Lieutenant Moran in to get started. I’ve also received word that Commander Pyxis is having one of the Garrison’s barracks cleared out to be converted into a temporary hospital.”

“Outstanding.” You wanted to sigh. This was the tough part, fitting everybody in without displacing too many of the healthy soldiers and causing a fuss. “While they’re at it I’ll see to Commander Smith personally and hit up surgery after, Moran ought to be done by then. When the Garrison sends word that the barracks are ready, YOU will go and oversee operations there, Killian. Notify Erikson and Larac. Take Lieutenant Larac with you, she is excellent under pressure. Carry on, Captain.” You acknowledge his responding salute and moved away to check private recovery room listings. 

Smith would be tucked away from the main commotion, so you went to see how bad off he was. Normally the man escaped grievous harm, but this time he got a dislocated shoulder and a few gouges. Nothing Erwin couldn’t easily survive, but it was also listed that he insisted on waiting so that the others more in need could be seen first.

You pushed the door open and pulled your fist to your chest in a quick acknowledgement, which he shook his head to a little, trying not to chuckle. Normally you wouldn’t bother behind closed doors. “At ease, Section Commander. There’s no need for that here.” Dropping your hand, you approached, eyebrows slightly raised at the sight of him. He wasn't humorless at least, considering his banged-up condition. 

Then again, this man has the constitution of a grizzly; able to take what would be a usually fatal beating and come back for more. You’d seen him return with worse since you began in the Scouts, starting out as a titan killer yourself and later displaying enough of an aptitude as a field medic that then-Commander Sadies secured enough leave for you to take medical training courses. This led to you attaining the Eldian equivalent of a PH.D. During your tenure as one of the Survey Corps few dedicated doctors, you proved yourself, earned a service medal of your own for honor and distinguishing yourself under fire during one of the worst expeditions in history, and would become the only doctor any of the higher-ups in the Survey Corps would accept examinations from a month or so later. They worked with you, they knew you, they trusted your judgement.

You since became privy to everything from their mental and physical status to what these people looked like nude. Erwin Smith is 6’2’’, last weighed in at 203 pounds of solid muscle and had no issues with his joints, which is uncommon for veterans with the ODMG. He always smiles gently when he sees you. Not the one without warmth, but a genuine curve of the mouth reserved only with those he knew well. This time it was also a bit pained. “So.” You began, circling around where he was leaning against the padded table, holding his loose arm pinned to his side. These exam tables can fold upwards into an L shape. He was pressing some of his weight on the inverted back.

“So.” Erwin echoed. He allows you to intrude on his personal space and lift the edge of his jacket to have a look. Being this close to any of them, it has never been lost on you that they are finely tuned killing machines. This man, Miche and Levi especially. It takes a lot to dislocate a limb like this. “That’s a good one. I doubt we can get your arm out of this sleeve without cutting it. I’ll get an anesthetic.”

“No. Please just relocate the arm.”

“ _Erwin Smith_ , I am your doctor. You don’t need to be tough in here, no one’s going to see.” You were planning to get that coat and shirt off, do the painkillers, move slowly…not many can withstand ‘just relocating the arm’, simple as that. 

“Please get it over with. I’d rather have done with this soon as possible.” 

When he digs his heels in, he doesn’t budge. You gave in, knowing full well his next step might be an order. “Would you like something to bite?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He’s seen this injury before. The Commander knew what extra pain he was about to be shocked with. “Alright. Don’t blame me if you crack your teeth.” You took hold of his arm, shifting into position before beginning to rotate the limb. You could feel his muscles bunch together beneath your fingers in response. Dislocations come with horrific pain of their own. He was being brave, but his body had other ideas. “Don’t fight me, Erwin. Try to relax. Take a few deep breaths.” You watched him obey, closing his large eyes and steadying himself. “Very good. At the count of ten. One, Two, Three, Four---” CRACK! “Ten.”

He didn’t scream. He grimaced with those (intact) white teeth and sucked in air, but the man didn’t even growl or hiss. His suffering was almost noiseless, that pain tolerance of his was always finding ways to prod your medical curiosity. Walls forbid Hanji be involved; she’d be doing cartwheels, asking invasive questions and jabbing her fingers into the socket to see what it felt like.

“Alright. When you’re ready, the jacket’s coming off.” Erwin was taking a moment to steady his breathing, but he nodded curtly and abides your help in removing the article of clothing and undid the upper part of his harness, as well as the shirt beneath which was torn and bloodied along his front. He kept his lariat medal on out of habit. Yours was much like it, though kept tucked inside your shirt, with the green and gold surface peeking out between the buttons of your neckline. You inspected around his shoulder. “Good, your arm's seated properly in the socket. You’ll have some bruising and I insist that you wear a sling for the rest of the week. Doctor’s orders.” You left his arm alone for now in favor of checking the cuts on his torso. Having his arm in the sling right now meant one of these cuts would be covered. For now, he could decompress from the pain of having his limb shoved back in alignment. He at least managed to spare getting sliced anywhere beyond his upper body. One was very wide, matching the breadth of a titan’s fingernail probably. You’d never known him to be sloppy enough to get scratched in this way. He might have earned this one pulling an idiot or two out of the way. 

You went to a cabinet, extracted what was required, washed your hands, and proceeded to clean this largest gash. Blue eyes reopened and watched. In the beginning, attending to injuries meant washing them out with stream water, splashing on alcohol and covering up with anything that could be torn into bandages. There were never enough medics to go around. Sadies was always sending people to train for it before Erwin took command, but when field medics in fact _have_ to go out on the field, they are as vulnerable as any. This meant that only soldiers with a record of going on expeditions and returning would be given the choice to take the more extensive training.

“It was bad back there.” He said, voice lowered by pain. “Worse than we’ve seen in a while.”  
“I believe it.” You agreed, having sanitized the wound. He was so accustomed to the stinging it didn’t register. “These smaller cuts are deeper. I’ll need to put in a few stitches. Are you planning to be sober for that?”

“I need to remain conscious. Save the anesthetics for those who need it more than I.”

“Well after having your arm put back in joint, this’ll feel like nothing anyway.”

You carried on your work of buttoning up his injuries and would leave to grab him a crisp white shirt which was not destroyed. Neither of you spoke much beyond working, but he was always highly appreciative of your attentiveness to detail. You also brought a sling and helped adjust it for him once dressed so that his injured arm was at a comfortable angle. “No Commander of ours is going back out there looking scruffy. We’d never hear the end of it. Now I know it’s annoying, but keep this sling on until Monday _at least_.” You pointed two fingers to your eyes then his. “I’ll be watching you, Commander. Don’t let me catch you without it.”

This got a laugh out of him and a heartfelt ‘thank you’. You are still the same uppity bitch he started working with since after boot camp. It was nice that not everybody from those days died or lost their spirit. Some survived, toughened, excelled.

When you stepped out, your colleagues Miche and Hange were there, talking across from the door and waiting. “How is he?” Miche asked, catching your scent before even seeing you. You always smelled of antiseptic, blood, bandages and herbs. He knew it a mile off. Zoe grinned at you when you halted by them. “He’ll be fine. Incidentally, he is under orders not to be taking that sling off. He had a bad dislocation and some stitches; I’ll be taking those out in awhile but for now he needs to take it easy. What the fuck happened out there, anyway?”

“He didn’t say?” Miche asked, turning his face more towards you. You didn’t smell as much like blood yet. “Only that it was worse than usual. How many casualties are there?”

“Way too many.” He said, and the three of you stepped aside when Erwin reappeared from the room. He’d been making a few last adjustments to his clothing one-handed. Hange held her hands up and dropped them at her sides, her tone coming out matter-of-fact. “We have fewer dead, but the tradeoff is that those returning may be retired from now on. Too badly injured.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Well…shit. Alright. You know where I’ll be. Incidentally,” You lowered your hand and looked at Erwin, who watched you inquisitively. “I’ve sent some files ahead to HQ. They should already be on your desk, requisition forms and profiles. I need more trainees that aren’t going to bow out the moment they’re expected to do wound care. These volunteers we’ve been getting are a joke, they seem to anticipate that just because they aren’t out on the field means they aren’t going to see blood.”

Hange rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably while Erwin was shaking his head in a ‘Walls help me’ sort of way, and Miche grunted through his nose. “What do they expect?”

“Can’t speak for them all, but I overheard a group of girls in a hall saying they thought they’d be giving handsome soldiers sponge baths. I sent them to do that for the women instead. It’s more appropriate given their attitude. This isn’t some ridiculous romance novel.”

Miche snorted, Hange laughed, Erwin seemed weary. “I will look further into this problem. Though there is only so much we can do to filter out the serious candidates.”

“I’m aware, sir.” You shrugged. “I’m going through, then. I see a patient being wheeled in.”

“Oh, hey.” You looked back at Miche while Erwin and Hange began to walk away “Hm?”  
“Special Ops is going to be hanging around, Levi volunteered his squad to lend a hand. Feel free to make use of them however.”

“Are you certain they aren’t needed elsewhere?”  
“If they are, you’ll be the first to know.”  
You nodded and parted ways with an old friend, heading off to begin your grisly task.

_Hours upon hours later…_

At least titans don’t leave bullets in people, that’s a minimal comfort. You spent your afternoon amputating limbs, stitching bodies shut and sanitizing infections. Out of the scouts here, the Special Ops Squad were the ones not injured beyond a few cuts and dings, and you’d see Petra, Eld, Gunther and Oluo moving through here and there, assisting in transferring patients or keeping things clean. You had no idea if Levi hung around, but you also couldn’t think about him right now. Musing upon the man you loved was not going to fix these warm bodies. 

As you worked through the night into the morning, back into the night and again into a second dawn you got the picture of what Erwin meant by saying ‘it was bad’. You handled the aftermath of your regiment’s excursions. ‘Bad’ is a freaking understatement.

When the moon went back to sleep and the sun awoke a third time; you glanced up from your current patient and noticed it was getting quiet in here, having completely lost sense of time by now. Grey was off at the temporary barracks hospital and your other officers were spread around doing their jobs. But even they had the sense to stop when they were getting tired. A few of the newbies predictably up and quit the program when they saw how hideous a task they signed up for, which created more work right when nobody needed that. Most of those had a green unicorn on their back. 

The last patient had his left leg crushed up to the knee. He begged, bargained and pleaded that you do not remove it, but there was no saving that limb. It was dead from the knee down, and necrosis from a titan’s saliva set in. Better to take the leg and save the soldier. 

They ran out of any kind of antiseptic early in the expedition when a wagon was destroyed, and the bottles inside were pulverized with it. You took his leg up to the knee, ignoring his tears and the screams through the wad of fabric in his mouth. The anesthetic only did so much and there was nothing left to black him out short of a fist to the face. It took a couple queasy cadets holding him down as your manual orthopedic saw transected through bone and flesh, burbling out a wash of blood despite the tourniquet.

He was not the only soldier getting this treatment. There were plenty more needing amputations, certainly more than you were used to having to accommodate.

When you finished sewing and had him wheeled away to recover, you washed your hands and left the surgical suite since there were no more patients in dire need. Your back, feet and legs throbbed from standing so long. You took water breaks and had a few bites of food on and off, but otherwise you were back into it every chance you got. Taking breaks was not an option for about 68 hours straight of sawing bone and stitching flesh. 

Being too spent to notice you were being followed meant you were surprised when somebody closed the door to your office behind you. Your quarters in Trost are attached to the office, same as at the fortress. Levi had been checking in on you without your noticing during the past day after hearing that you had yet to resurface from your duties. He did that more than you were aware. When he could not, Eld Gin did once or twice. 

Eld is another good man. He brought a ration the other day for you to gulp down in between patients. You appreciated his kindness. He replied to think nothing of it, understanding why his Captain was concerned. You were getting burnt out and he could see it. 

That was then, this is now. When you stripped off your stained lab coat and flung it into a basket, Ackermann watched you drop onto your bed. You looked over at him with half lidded eyes. “Don’t tell me. You need an arm relocated, too?” 

“No.” He said, approaching. You basically wear the same uniform as everyone else, but not usually with the harness and often swap out the crop jacket. It was hard to realize how concerned he was until Levi dropped to a knee in front of you and started removing one of your tall boots, fingers methodically making quick work of it. “Levi…”

“Shut up, brat. You’re filthy and exhausted.”  
You closed your mouth and let him do his thing. You were so wiped that you did not think of trying to pull rank, which seldom works on the guy anyhow. He decided to help in a way he felt was agreeable. Which evidently was drawing you a bath, finishing with helping you strip, and carrying you to the tub. You let yourself settle in his steely arms, feeling weightless when he held you close to his chest. You were only a few inches taller than him. It might as well be a few millimeters right now.

The water was screaming hot at first, but it pierced through skin into muscle and began to feel nice. Levi planted a chair behind the head of the tub and rolled his sleeves back, removed his cravat, and picked up a cloth and soap. If you were less out of it, you’d be wondering if this was a peculiar dream. You should’ve been shocked to feel his hands glide from over your shoulders down to your breasts with soap and cloth, drawing an herbal scent into the air. He wasn’t being a pervert but…his hands navigating your body in gentle circles was borderline arousing. Levi never did anything of this sort before. Your love for him was always unrequited but never rejected over the years since he joined. It began very slowly and continued at that meager pace. When he started out, he was a frequent patient. It blossomed from that. When Levi got good though; _really_ fucking good at what he does, you saw him less in the clinic. You’d still see each other here and there. Your feelings for him never declined.

His breath was light your shoulder when he leaned forward, his slender wrist moving further down your anatomy. You closed your eyes and let him take this wherever he might, placing yourself in his hands. This is not a life-threatening situation, but you were the most vulnerable he had seen you. When his cloth-wrapped hand didn’t move any further and you felt only stillness, you didn’t budge except to let any remaining tension out of your muscles. He watched this tiny action and, in this instant, felt something click. 

You were not demanding anything from him like other women had. You weren’t mewling for release when the cloth was between your thighs, you weren’t asking what he stopped for, you weren’t fighting him on a damn thing. He put the soap aside and coasted his hand back under the water, over your chest, his thumb grazed a nipple. He knows your body would respond, but you still didn’t wriggle or make those obnoxious, disgusting, whorish sounds he remembered too well from his childhood. Levi was never in control of your body, but you had been in control of _his_ many days in the past. Albeit in another way.

His mouth was close when he asked “Why?”, lips brushing against your cheek. You lazily kept your eyes closed, very aware of him. “Why what?”

He didn’t elaborate. A wet hand grasped your chin harder than necessary and he turned your face. Levi was now at the edge of the tub by your shoulder, nose to nose, for every ounce of his intensity you continued not to flinch or whimper. Your gaze drifted open into his and watched back into his thousand-yard-stare, unafraid, at his mercy, knowing how deadly this man is and still not cowed. Why what? Why…aren’t you afraid? Why…aren’t you trying to wrap your legs around his neck? Why…just why? Fucking WHY?!

“Close your eyes.”  
You did.  
“Say my name.”  
“Levi.”

This tone he heard was tranquil and undisturbed. He had at least seven other things to tell you to do and then could not remember any of them. Instead he leaned close and touched his lips to yours experimentally, almost pulled away, then sealed his mouth to your own cautiously. Now he felt you move, your lips against his, soft and warm and a little humid. He leaned into you, hands grasping porcelain. His tongue pushed in. You accepted his intrusion and let this strange dream continue. Was Levi kissing you? After so long…so long of being the one to initiate, to touch his face, his shoulders, soft movements, a chaste peck on the mouth or the cheek…was this happening? His mouth on yours was real, his tongue sliding past your teeth was impossible to fake. Between this and the hot water, you couldn’t be more overheated. 

He broke it, barely leaning back, noses touching. There was a very pregnant silence. Levi listened to see if you’d start making the demands he expected to come, but never would. You weren’t even opening your eyes to his. “Look at me.”

You did. He was so close you thought you’d drown in him. He was trying to work out what it was that ‘clicked’, why the fuck it felt good to kiss you, and how it was he didn’t try this sooner. These are simple commands that you obeyed. He could put this to use elsewhere and it almost felt wrong, as though you had no capacity to resist. That hand moved from your jaw to your throat. There was a palpable tension in his fingers. His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Resist me.”

“Never.”

That got him. With the threat of pressure on your windpipe, you stared into his soul and waited. He was at a loss. You intentionally resisted the idea of resisting. He couldn’t lean any further into you without falling in the tub, suspended with one hand on the edge and his legs tense. “WHY?” His fingers twitched at your throat. At first you inclined your chin with a slight smile, giving his digits more room. Then your expression tightened, and you lurched forward into his palm to where you both felt the pressure, which would startle a man with lesser nerves. He kept right where he was, ignoring that your top half was visible above the suds, an iridescent film of them drizzling off your curves.

“For everything you are, I’ve seen or heard it all. A street urchin, a neat freak, a son of a whore, a friend, a thief, a brother, a murderer, a titan slayer, a leader, a complete jackass, a hope for humanity. Those things made you who you are. So help me, I _love_ who you are, Levi Ackermann. Whether your faults and mine; I cannot see that changing, even if you never feel the same.”

His hand lowered, palm over your heart, preparing to push you back. Yes. You did know about his sordid past. You witnessed his pain. You didn’t push. Ever. EVER. Why didn’t you push? Petra did before she joined Special Ops. Other bitches pressured him when they could. But not you. Never ever.

He heard you say that you love him before. It didn’t sink in completely until now, when he was receptive. How fucking twisted, to face such horrors and be unable to deal with a lone woman that claims she loves him. It is too easy to succumb to a beautiful woman who could be torn away at a moment’s notice. How didn’t you fear the same, that he might not return?

Levi watched you slide back down, putting your back to warm porcelain. Saw you close your eyes and continue to expect nothing of him. It hurt. _It hurt_ that you expected nothing. But when you kissed back minutes ago, that in some ways let him know you held out enough hope to respond in kind. You would finish washing up. The warmth was radiating away. You stood and he watched you tower over him, dripping wet and glancing around for a towel. It was by his side. He took it and stood, approached, and wrapped it around you, caught your body back into his arms, and hefted you easily out of the tub. Almost got a noise out of you in doing so, too. He wasn’t satisfied with only that. “What’re you…” He carried your soaked self to the bed and put you down, leaning his body over yours again. You weren’t sure if you did something to anger him, but it wasn’t easy to read his face. 

“What do you want from _me?_ ” You asked him at last. He responded by dropping his knee between your damp thighs and pushing them apart. A shrill went through your core. What the hell was he thinking? Was he thinking of doing this out of…what, pity? You didn’t want that for either of you. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it.” He growled at your reticence. You stared at him and curled your fingers around the harness straps down either side of his torso. “Did I upset you?”

“No.” And his mouth descended against yours. You kissed him back again. Felt his hands move to start unlocking the harness. It is a ridiculous contraption that gets in the way during intimate moments like these. But as he began to, all he could remember was seeing his whore mother riding one of her random johns and stopped. Being exhausted as you are, you still detected his hesitation. You peeled his fingers from his harness, one by one, took that rough hand in both of your own. “I know.” You said, making him look up sharply, a question flooding those blue gray eyes of his. 

“I know you’re not there yet, Levi. I will wait. And if it never happens, that won’t make me love you less. We do not need to fuck. It won’t make you less of a man or me less of a woman. And besides,” You kissed his palm and placed it against your cheek. Tired as you were, you could still smile for him, give him kisses and tolerance and acceptance. “If we did, I’d prefer it not be out of pity.”

That got him, and good. The concept of what he’d been planning to do set ablaze a pain in his heart he’d never felt before. There was only that obnoxious acceptance, water parting around a body, something so fluid there are few ways to fight it. 

He wanted a fight. He wanted a challenge. How could you love a being as wretched as he? The fight is what he knew. You were taking him out of his ruthless bubble. Your cheek was smooth against his palm. He ached again. If he didn’t eventually initiate a physical relationship, another man might try it, and he raged at the thought. He took his hand away, both slammed down on either side of your head. Levi got close. Close like before, eye to eye, his clothed frame leaning over your bare one.

“You are mine, then. You will never, _ever_ , belong to another man but me. Understood?”

“Haven’t I always, jackass?”

He calmed and sat back on his knees, now straddling your hips. You watched him beneath lowered lashes when he shifted to drop beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and stared up at the ceiling. You turned and lay against him, a thigh over one of his, and placed your head upon his chest. 

As you succumbed to exhaustion, you felt him place an arm around your back before Levi, too, drifted away.


	3. Something To Look Forward To   |  [ Eld Gin ]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In such a gruff, terrible life, it doesn't hurt to have a kind face and open arms to return to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhiga: Ahem, I happen to find that Mr. Eld Gin is very underappreciated! This is a chaste bit of fluff, sorta. A shorter little one shot. Enjoy. ^^ <3

Something to Look Forward To

The streets of Trost are alive with the sounds of complaining.

“Yeah, yeah, our tax dollars are circling the drain.”  
“Look at those lame asses, coming back like this!”  
“Plumping them titans up, as usual.”  
“Hey, it’s the Levi Squad! Give em’ what-for, guys?!”  
“Ey’ Commander, goin’ for the record body count?”

You raised your head to peer through the bullseye glass of your office window into the cobbled streets, seeing a procession of cloaked soldiers begin to ride by. Your coworkers already stepped out to stand amid the crowd. You caved and decided to do the same, but not before washing the ink stains off your hands.

There they were, the Scout Regiment, looking battered and busted like knuckles after a brawl. You watched them trot by, in varying states of health and wholeness. It made your heart ache to see these individuals hurting as they were. They’re the ones who try. They’re the ones not happy with this pathetic status quo. Food gets scarce because there isn’t enough land. You were keenly aware of the ravages of this small world, having had to write about them enough.

Your editor, Samuel, was on his way back inside. His gruff baritone disturbs your daze. “Copy’s due in an hour.” He said, hanging by the doorway when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “Hey. Are you listening? Copy is due in an hour; the press is warming up.”

“I heard you, Sam.” You watched them go through, a grim emerald parade splotched with too much red. You couldn’t stand listening to the naysayers anymore, anyhow. You’d go back in and finish your job, hand over what was due, and leave.  
It was going to be awhile before you reached home, you had to walk several blocks. You lived in a less expensive building on the third floor where it was cheapest. Not a bad apartment to stay in, but also, not the fanciest. It was cozy and easy to keep clean, and the balcony was lovely. You enjoyed sitting out and writing or attempting to draw in one of many notebooks made of free scrap paper from work. They didn’t care if you took leftover bits to mess with. Your boss was quite a wasteful man, in fact. 

Since you got done with work early and weren’t quite ready to eat, you decided to do exactly that: step out onto the balcony and sit down. The view was negligible, considering across the way was nothing but barracks—therefore the buildings in this part of Trost are cheaper. Not many want to be that close to where the Scouts end up landing after an expedition. As they have no dedicated headquarters for years now, they had barracks in every district. Trost has lately been their kick-off point.  
You sat with your shoulder to the railing, set pencil to paper and picked up where you left off on your book; a sort of adventure serial that imagined what life would be like in another world. Writing for the newspaper was a day job. But you wanted to get published. You had two of these written already. One was in ‘the pile’ on the editor-in-chief’s desk.  
While writing you heard your neighbor in the overhang below your balcony badmouthing the Scouts.

“Hell, it’s never going to change. At this point we jus’ throwing stuff away.”

His wife was barely tolerating him today. “I know Petyr, I know. Everyone from here to Mitras knows.”

“Then why bother sendin’ them out, huh? What they think they are going to accomplish?”

“Petyr…”  
“I’m not trying to sit here and let our tax money go to fattening up those beasts. Let them try to climb the wall. They can’t, remember? They’re too damn stupid, and we’re stupid for sending people out there.”

“Is this about that letter from this morning?”

“Damn straight this is about that letter. Shiganshina was a fluke. Those things aren’t getting in again.”

It was really, really tiresome. This happened every fucking time they came back. Problem is, the ones Petyr was mouthing off about were across the street, talking amongst themselves and still fully armed. They ignored the old-timer, but you certainly could not listen to another vile word, particularly after that Shiganshina remark. You stood up, stomping a foot on the floorboards loudly to disrupt the elderly bastard’s rhetoric. “By Sina, shut your wrinkled trap already Petyr! No one asked for your opinion!”  
“Don’t make me come up there, young lady, I happen to be—” You put your book down and placed your hands on the railing, peering straight down at an angle to the balcony below yours. “---friends with the manager, you’ve said this a thousand times. Get bent, you disgusting old prick.”

“When I get my hands on you—”

His wife heard enough. She was forever telling him to lay off, especially when it came to a female of any age whatsoever. “PETYR! DON’T YOU START HARASSING OUR NEIGHBOR!” He vanished into his apartment to have a shouting match with his wife, and you turned away to rub your temples. Down below, the small group of Scouts were smirking amongst themselves. Three of them went inside, and a fourth turned and anchored to the brick wall along your balcony, ziplining up to perch on the edge. You yelped at his abrupt appearance, a hand over your heart. His handsome face breaks into a smirk at your astonishment. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, a tremor of laughter in his voice. “I wanted to look you in the eye and say thanks for telling him to shut up. You don’t know how sick of hearing these people we are.”

“Oh,” Your hand trailed away from its space upon your breast, smoothing the cloth of your dress as you watched him retract his anchors and simply stand on the railing, perfectly balanced. Blond bangs dust his forehead above rich brown eyes which seemed to hold a form of kindness, though with a sense of pain behind them also. “No problem. I can’t stand hearing that kind of claptrap either, as you can tell.” You watched him drop down to sit on the rail easily with the boxy sheathes at his sides giving a ‘clank’. His balance must be superb, he doesn’t wobble at all. You couldn’t hardly get up on a chair to water a plant, much less stand or sit on a rail. “I don’t know how you soldiers can use those contraptions. I had to get over my fear of heights moving into this apartment, and it’s only three floors high. I'm clumsy see, I nearly dropped this morning trying to reach a shelf. Being atop that wall must feel like standing on world's edge, I'd be terrified of falling.”

A blink from him. He was amused. “You get used to it if you’re determined enough. Using ODMG becomes second nature.” He began to study your features, finding you somewhat familiar. “I’ve seen you before.” He goes on to say. “You work with the press, right?”

“That I do.” You agreed, watching him place his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “I’ve seen you too. You’ve come back from a lot of those expeditions.” His resulting smile is halfhearted and lingers but a second. “I will continue to come back from them until the mission is complete.”

“Well,” You said, eyes softening. “At least some people around here have a sense of responsibility.” You shook your head. “I really am sorry about you hearing Petyr’s filth, and he won't be the last of that. Seems they like sticking your Regiment where the low-lives are. I hear it’s the same in other districts, my sister in Calaneth wrote once. I genuinely don’t understand why, the Scout Regiment is the only one not content to let things sit as they are.”

“That can’t be right. You’re here, and you don’t seem like a lowlife.”

You jokingly fanned yourself, a rosy tint rising in your cheeks. “Ooo, aren't you a flatterer!”

“It’s not flattery if I mean it.” This soldier says, dead serious. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who can’t take a compliment.”

“Oh, I’m certainly happy to take _every_ compliment. But we’ve just met, and you have no idea about whether or not I’m a low life.” You tossed this notion back at him, eyes bright. His serious expression begins to defrost. He can tell you both are and aren't playing around, but he understood. Your blunt yet friendly demeanor was entertaining, even endearing. 

“Oy! Eld! Get your ass in here, we need you.” You peered around him to the side door of the barracks, seeing a man much shorter than this soldier disappear back inside. You lifted an eyebrow. “Eld, is it? Now I know your name.” You watch him move as though to stand back up, fascinated that he doesn't topple overboard. Eld really is attractive. Nice features, obviously well built, and you were sort of loving his stubble right now. He's a handsome stranger that you wanted to get to know better. The man came up here to thank you, he didn't seem to be a bad sort. Upon your comment about knowing his name, he's hesitating to leave.

“Yet I don’t know yours.” 

May as well make him earn it. You beckoned with a single finger, a cute idea forming in your head. And being at least curious enough about your sudden gesture, Eld pushed off the railing to step closer. He was surprised when you rose onto your tiptoes and sweetly planted a kiss on one rough cheek. “First, welcome home.” Now you turned to the corresponding side, the tip of your nose brushing his accidentally as you moved your face across to place a second kiss. “And that one is for being a responsible, stand-up kind of guy.”

“Eld! Captain’s getting pissed!” A different man's voice. It can't have been long since the first one called up, but you had a feeling that in the military 'now' means yesterday. Gin waved the owner of that voice off and grinned at you. “What, I still don’t get your name?”

“Not so fast, soldier. You can have _that_ after you return from the next mission.”

Eld wanted to blurt out, ‘what if I don’t?’ Instead he watched you in the golden rays of dusk, how it lit your features. He could see himself reflected in your vibrant eyes, noticed the way the wind fluttered downy strands of hair about your face like a sunlit halo. He realized he really did want to know your name, more than he’s wanted anything for himself in a while. It would also be nice to return and see a kind face here among the discontented ones in Trost. Yes...perhaps...just _perhaps,_ this could be the start of something pleasant. He needed a bit of that in his existence right now. Eld Gin, second-in-charge of the Special Operations Squad, chose to take a gamble on you; as you were doing the same with him. 

“Okay,” Finally having reached his decision, he gently took one of your hands. It fits nicely in his own. “That’s something to look forward to.”

Then he kisses your knuckles, and flies away.


	4. Baby Girl  |  [Miche Zacharias] NSFW! AU!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You drive him mad, but he does the same to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhiga: Yep, don’t mind me, just posting a pile of words that I decided was appropriate for the internet. Now hopefully this is cringeworthy in all the best ways....on that note; HAHAH, daddy kink time. xD If you don’t dig it, turn back NOW! Same follows if you don’t like Suicide Squad or exotic dancers or people talking filthy. Normally not my thing btw. This once I make an exception.
> 
> I headcanon that Miche, though not being much of a talker, would actually take to texting more than verbalizing. He is talkative with the right people, like Erwin for example, or in this case YOU. I also believe he doesn’t care about spelling properly unless motivated. Haaa..haahahahaaa….think about that for a second. xP
> 
> Incidentally, people talking improperly in this would happen to be intentional.

Baby Girl

Early evening, an obnoxious trill breaks the silence. It goes to voicemail, then a text. And another, and another…until the cell phone’s owner rolls over with a grunt and snatches the offending device off its charger, retracting below the sanctity of his blanket. Electric blue illuminates a scruffy face and bloodshot green eyes.

_**Short Ass  
3:56PM 7/12/20**  
Seriously?_

_**Short Ass  
3:57PM 7/12/20**  
Bitch wake up!_

_**Short Ass  
3:58PM 7/12/20**  
I’ll come over there motherfucker don’t think I won’t._

**  
3:59PM 7/12/20**  
_Is my day off stfu_

He clicked off the screen along with the sound and let the phone land on his mattress, turning over and finding that side of the bed empty. He thinks nothing of it at first, closing his eyes and shoving his face into the pillow with a hefty inhale, sucking the lingering scent of perfume and shampoo. For a blissful however-long, the blond drifts back into that embrace of slumber. His body feels heavy and warm. And for at least that long, he completely forgets about his phone, until it starts vibrating from half beneath his hip. Eyes shoot open again. “Fuck’s sake…” He grates out, and fumbles for the cell in the darkness of his covers. White-blue light floods beneath again.

_**Short Ass  
4:05PM 7/12/20**  
Jean punked out._

_**Short Ass  
4:05PM 7/12/20**  
His shift is up for grabs._

_**Short Ass  
4:06PM 7/12/20**  
I’m working at Gemini Rose tonight or I’d go._

_**  
4:06PM 7/12/20**  
So wat make Marco go_

_**Short Ass  
4:07PM 7/12/20**  
Erwin said Marco can’t he has too much OT already._

_**  
4:08PM 7/12/20**  
Connie or Eren  
_

_  
_

_**Short Ass  
4:09PM 7/12/20**  
Connie quit. Eren’s covering for Bertolt there and don’t fucking ask about Reiner he’s already going they need another._

_**  
4:10PM 7/12/20**  
SRSLY_

He slumped, face partially buried in his cushy white pillow and staring at the phone in hand. As he was about to text Erwin, he sees the ellipsis at the bottom of the screen indicating the guy is already writing him.

_**Boss  
4:12PM 7/12/20**  
…_

_**Boss  
4:12PM 7/12/20**  
Jean called out. His mother is in the hospital. His shift was 8p-5a. _

_**Boss  
4:12PM 7/12/20**  
If you would like the hours, they are yours._

_**  
4:13PM 7/12/20**  
Where_

_**Boss  
4:13PM 7/12/20**  
Sina._

He perks up. Sina is an establishment which they’ve acted as security for since its opening. Hange has a strict ‘no touchy’ policy, which is why she goes ham on the hired muscle. The dancers are smoking hot. One in particular, though…

_**  
4:15PM 7/12/20**  
Aight_

_**Boss  
4:16PM 7/12/20**  
Good man. Jean will take your Saturday at The Emerald Stallion and you can have the weekend off._

_**  
4:16PM 7/12/20**  
K_

No skin off his ass. Miche Zacharias is far from being homophobic, but he didn’t fancy working at the Stallion. Too many guys thinking he might be a male exotic dancer about to hulk out of his snug black t-shirt and twirl his junk for them. He set his alarm to ‘sleep’ for a bit longer and would drag his dead ass out of bed when he heard it go off, an air raid siren that he couldn’t possibly sleep through. Even if he managed, usually you’d wake him up by then, but not today. He sat up, bed head totally out of control, and called your name. 

No answer. He picks up his phone. Zero messages since he last texted Erwin and Levi, so he decides to send one.

_**  
6:07PM 7/12/20**  
wru  
**  
6:09PM 7/12/20**  
hey  
**  
6:12PM 7/12/20**  
I got called in_

By 7:25pm, Miche was at Club Sina and met with Reiner and Eren, both of whom are sporting black pants, boots and identical black ‘SC SECURITY’ shirts. “Hey man, didn’t think you’d show.” Reiner greeted. Eren shook his hand. “Been awhile, Mike.”

“Yeah, almost didn’t come.”

“You heard? Jean’s Mom had a bad episode this morning.” Reiner said, with the three of them heading inside. There was already a line formed out front. The owner, Hange Zoe, had a handful of other security guys working tonight as well, but they would handle front of the house. She liked hiring from SCS so her girls felt safe, since these boys have always been nothing but gentlemen.

Though Reiner talks a good game and makes some lewd remarks, that’s basically the extent. He knew better than to touch the merchandise. “Hey Mikey!” The redheaded Petra waves from the side as she heads to the back. He nods in her direction and gives a slow, sinus-laden type of sniff. “At least this place doesn’t smell of stale pussy.”

“No shit.” Eren agreed, leaning his hip against the stage, arms crossed. “Hey, your girl is gonna be on stage later, is that why you showed up? They’re doing some Suicide Squad/Birds of Prey thing tonight. Guess it was highly requested.”

He doesn’t dignify that with anything less professional than, “I didn’t want to leave you guys shorthanded.” Of the three, Miche is effortlessly the biggest. Eren and Reiner come in close, but Eren was the shortest by a hair. Standing between the crowd and the ladies with their arms crossed, making those biceps stand out— _usually_ that’s enough to dissuade most mouth breathers from reaching across to cop a feel. 

The sound of heels on polished flooring drew their attention.

There, walking in from behind one of the pillars around the edge of the room was a shapely figure in blue and red beside Hange Zoe. Hange comes up and gives each of the guys a hug with you trailing along in your Harley Quinn stage cosplay: booty shorts, ‘Daddy’s Little Monster’ top, and tall white Adidas heels included. While Hange has corralled Reiner and Eren into a corner, you sashay up to the one who did NOT need a stern talking-to.

“Hey Puddin’.” 

“Hello gorgeous.” He smirks, amused at your swishy appearance. You are the only person in the building who doesn’t call him ‘Mike’ or ‘Mikey’, which is what initially got his attention a while back. But now you’re calling him Puddin’ in a faux Brooklyn accent. You are _also_ a little closer to his height in your heels and are able to press a kiss to his cheek, petite hands holding his shoulders to lift yourself up a bit more. He hooks a tone forearm around the curvature of your lower back and tilts in for a much less chaste kiss, which has you making a soft, contented sound as his tongue toys with your own. You parted, grinning impishly at your man. “I thought the boss didn’t like you working when I’m on.”

“There was an emergency.”

You hum thoughtfully with a nod, slim fingers toying with the neckline of his top. You’ve been going out with Miche for years, but you never get tired of seeing him in his work shirt. He cocks an eyebrow at you when he notes that you’re mostly absorbing his features. “What’s your excuse? Y’know, for leavin’ me cold this morning?” He slaps your ass and you squeal. Hange looks over. “HEY! Hands off the merchandise, pal!”

“What if I already own it?”

You lightly punch his chest; he catches your wrist and kisses your hand with you pouting over at Hange.  
“Oh, well then. Nothing I can do about that.” She returns to filling Eren and Reiner in on how things go around here. Usually Miche and Levi work this place without needing any help, but tonight’s show was advertised in advance. Meaning more than the usual crowd will buy in, meaning more rowdy pigs in with the regulars. 

“Don’t make me break into song, Puddin’. You don’t own meee~” You lilt, swaying your hips and laughing at the pretend-hurt expression your man gives you. “Don’t be that way, baby girl.”

“Hey, it’s about time _someone_ made an honest woman outta that bitch!” Ymir the bartender shouts over. You ignore her, assuming your Brooklyn accent. “Was somebahdy tawkin’?”

“Nope.” He has both arms loosely situated around your waist. “But what happened, where’d you go?” Miche hates waking up alone. You do too, so you both moved in together last year.

“My phone finally kicked it, so I ran by the mall to get a new one early. Didn’t want to wake you. Did you not see my note on the Keurig?” You falter out of your accent, suddenly wondering if you did in fact write a note or if you forgot. Oh well. He shrugs. “Nah, I got coffee on the way over. You were able to afford a new phone?”

“Trade in, and I have to pay the rest off.” His frown indicates that he disapproves. You roll your eyes. “That was an unexpected expense, I know. I’ll pick up a few extra shifts and it’ll be paid off no problem.”

“You could’ve asked,” He leans down enough to pick you up by your thighs and carries you over, perching you on the edge of the stage. You sit with your knees squeezing his sides, hands on his shoulders. He can pick you up effortlessly. You loved feeling light as a feather in his arms, almost as much as you adored the feeling of his stubble when he gets into necking you. You tilt your head, eyes closed and rubbing his shoulders as he begins doing so now. Not being there in the morning meant he didn’t get the urge out of his system yet. The guy is nearly always down for some morning sex. 

“Hange’s gonna see~”

“I don’t fucking care.” He growls into your neck, leaving a nip below your ear. He tugs on the hem of your ripped shirt, bold letters sliding down over the curves of your breasts, revealing the barely-there halter hidden beneath. ‘Daddy’s Little Monster’. “Gonna call me ‘Daddy’ later?”

“I’ll call you ‘Daddy’ _now_ , Daddy.” 

_“Fuck,”_ His baritone cuts shivers through your delicate frame. “You’re gettin’ it later, baby girl.”

“Do you promise, _Daddy?”_

He kisses you, full of lust. Fortunately, he has amazing enough self-control not to be tenting out his pants, despite how you’ve slithered your fingers down from his chest to rub between his taut thighs. “You’re askin’ for it.” Miche’s timbre is almost deadly, low, with his chest now so close to yours that you can feel the vibrations. 

“Hey Romeo, mind taking kitten there _down_ before she busts an ankle trying?” Hange shouts. “Mikasa needs her. Alright boys, let’s get this show started!” 

“Guess it’s time to get my hair did’.” You mutter, smile broadening at your boyfriend’s grunt of frustration as he complied, picking you up and placing you gently down. This is going to be a LONG ASS SHIFT, he knew it. You pecked him on the lips and went backstage through a door on the side. “My turn?” You asked Mikasa upon finding her, who nodded, pointing at the chair. You sit down and let her set to work. She’s uncannily good at working with wigs. Wasn’t always so.

The ravenette is enormously bitchy towards patrons, but she lost her ability to get a job with security companies long ago due to her ‘I’ll fucking kill you’ attitude. Added to that a severe car accident, she fell back on the artistry of makeup when Christa helped her acquire a taste for it. Mikasa is a total doll to people she likes, but when patrons slip past security and try to get backstage, she’ll still hand them their own ass. 

Speaking of which, the club filled fast. You were hearing music pick up, a throbbing beat that’s good for ass-shaking. 

“Do you want this in ponytails or not?”

Mikasa caught your attention and you shrug. “Whatever you think is better, I don’t mind keeping my hair down.” You watched her fit the cap over your skull, skimming your natural hair beneath tight as a drum before fitting the lace-front wig on. Mikasa is damn fast and efficient with it, trimming the lace back and gluing it appropriately. You prefer not to wear these on stage, but Hange doesn’t ask everyone to dress special too frequently. Most of the girls wear what they like and strip accordingly, sometimes tossing excess garments into the crowd if they cared less or flinging them aside into the offstage area. Your makeup and wig are done in short order, with Mika consulting an image on her phone. 

“My face feels heavy.” You sigh, closing your eyes while she fires off a cloud of all-nighter setting spray, then fans your face. “Well, you got to be Harley, so you have to wear a full face of clown makeup.”

“What--?! _Do_ I look like a clown?!” Your eyes fly back open and see that you do not. She has used ultra-pale foundation blended down into your neck and patted around your ears. The smeared eyeshadow and lipstick are present, complete with a heart shape expertly etched in black eyeliner on your cheek. Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, I have Christa left to do. Sasha’s about to go on stage.”

“Thanks girl. By the way, Miche and I were gonna have a party Friday night. BYOB. Drag Eren with you, boy needs to calm the fuck down. I don’t mind sharing my weed.” You hop down and go clicking over to grab your shiny bomber jacket. More clothes mean a longer dance. Which is a rarity for this venue, except on larger events like tonight, every girl is dressed as a different character. If that character happened to be male on screen, it was made feminine. Sasha got dibs on dressing as Joker, swinging around her vivid green hair as she revealed her purple crocodile skin bikini top in her next combo. You watch from aside, proud of her. She started out as a newbie months ago but made up for it with enthusiasm. Tonight was the first night she got to open.

You applaud when she finishes her first dance and goes shimmying over to a second gilded pole, and you come prancing on stage. There is a combined number. You’ve been practicing with her for weeks. The song which plays is ‘Joke’s On You’ by Charlotte Lawrence, after which, ‘Joker’ gets to part from the stage, and your next song plays.

This may not be your dream job, but you’ve learned the artistry behind it in order to make bank. Which you do, smiling big when you see Miche, standing by an edge of the stage where he can keep his wary gaze over the roiling crowd beneath strobing lights. He’s positioned himself so he can also see the stage by barely turning his head. You wink at him, swaying on the spot, turning and slowly shedding your jacket immediately before tossing it aside and pushing against the gleaming pole, arching your back and extending a leg.

Your body flows through motions, effortlessly inverting your weight until you are upside down above the crowd by only your thighs, shedding your torn shirt and revealing the shiny red and blue halter beneath. Green eyes watch from his shadowy patch of floor, his presence enough to intimidate the drooling lechers from attempting to edge closer. 

Miche never gets tired of watching your performances. If anything, him being there is encouragement to put the additional effort into it. You did ballet in middle school, traded that for gymnastics throughout high school and have the same fluid poise as a prima ballerina.  
Reiner approached him, offering a sealed water bottle. “Mm. That ass, I swear to _fucking_ god.” He curses, having failed to see you with Miche earlier. Nor did he pay attention to the exchange between him and Hange.

“Drooling over what you can’t have? You’re no fucking better than these lonely ass pricks.”

“Whoa whoa, what’s with the anger man?” Reiner flinched, almost spilling a little of his own water. Miche motions with his head. “Get back to your post, newbie.”

“Fine…jeez.” He roams back over, where Eren is leaned up against the stage as usual to give the patrons a bit more room to goggle up as you arc around gracefully, dismounting the pole and entering a floor dance combination. “Mike’s in a bitchy mood.” He told the brunette, who raised his eyebrows over at the blond. “What’d you fucking say, Reiner?” Eren asked warily. Miche isn’t big on small talk. Getting into a disagreement with that giant is kind of harder than one might think, he doesn’t take a lot personally and generally doesn’t see most others as worth investing much energy in. 

“Nothing. I complimented the dancer. That’s it.”

“…and uh, when you say ‘compliment’?”

“It was A COMPLIMENT you retard, that’s it.” 

Eren turned and eyed you over his shoulder. You are swaying, hands skimming sensually down your rolling hips. He grunted; mouth tugged into a thin line. “Welp’, that’s what happens when you talk about his woman.”

“Wha…? You fuckin’ with me here, really?”

“Yeah. S’not against the rules or anything as long as they act professional during business hours.” Eren shrugged, taking a sip of his water. “Bertolt dated Sasha for a bit. Until…well, y’know.”

“What do I know?”

“Mishap in the bedroom with whipped cream and caramel. He thought he’d be putting her love of eating to good use.”

 _“Jesus.”_ Cringe. Sasha plus food equals mayhem. The world knows this.

“Mhm.”

Behind them on stage, you were onto your next song. A fast beat that had you alternating quick-slow-quick, tantalizing the crowd with your swaying hips and long legs tucking about the pole from one stance to the next up and down its expanse. You already worked up a sweat, wishing you could be doing your routine barefoot (and without a wig, please). Doing so would give better control and allow you to do certain moves that are a pain in shoes. 

But they elevate you a bit higher for the crowd, so heels it is. You climbed, hanging in inverted crucifix before grasping the metal below your head and detaching one leg, spine curving gracefully into the next form, one after another after another, striking poses that grasp onto attention and don’t leave room for wandering eyes. 

Your number ends, then a transition to the next performer. You sashay off stage, winking at Miche on your way by him. The shadows fall in such a way that you can barely see the smirk pulling his mouth. 

Sasha was waiting aside when you came down the stage stairs. “Whew!” She gasped, sitting next to an oscillating fan. “If only we didn’t need to wear wigs tonight.”

“Well you could’ve dyed your hair.” You said, sitting in the chair nearby to also enjoy the breeze. “Hell no!” She was ready for an argument, you sensed it. Mostly because she’s hangry. “Do you need a granola bar or something?” You asked warily.

“No…I’m fine…” 

“Okay, but you’re awfully ticked off for being ‘fine’.” You knew what this is about. They don’t let anyone eat in the backstage area anymore after an issue with ants. Sasha tends to be a bit messy, and she wasn’t the only one. You prefer to eat when you get home and have a small snack on break to hold you over. “So…you and Mikey, huh?” 

“He hates being called that, y’know.” You adjust your ‘PUDDIN’ collar, feeling it tug the downy hairs on the back of your neck. “His name is _Miche_. Not exactly difficult to pronounce, sweetie.”

“Yeah but its easier to call him Mike.” Sasha complained. “Frick, I’m hungry!!! My ride was early I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

“Still offering a granola bar.” You drone, picking up your phone and texting Miche with the cutest little smirk Sasha ever did see. Knowing him, he’d move to take his first fifteen-minute break once you were off stage. But he wasn’t allowed to associate with you beyond protective actions when you’re on the clock. Officially, anyway.

This doesn’t prevent you from tormenting him. 

_**8:07PM 7/12/20**  
Hey boo_

_**8:07PM 7/12/20**  
I mean DADDY_

_**8:08PM 7/12/20**  
I’m so wet right now…_

You both always sent nasty texts back and forth. It was a whole thing.  
Sure enough…

_**Sexy  
8:09PM 7/12/20**  
dont try me bbygirl_

_**Sexy  
8:09PM 7/12/20**  
keep it up im gonna fuck u so hard u cant walk_

_**  
8:09PM 7/12/20**  
How are you going to do that if I’m riding your face?_

Outside near the smoking area, Miche had been talking to one of the guys from up front who was also on break, Farlan. “Your phone keeps buzzing.” The other blond pointed out, taking a drag off his cig. Miche pulled it from his back pocket again and checked. 

_’Fucking hell…’_ He thought furiously, imagining it. CHRIST, you make him insane sometimes.  
“Shiiiieeeet.” Farlan whistled, having read along before Miche could stop him. “Ya girl’s a freak, man.”  
“…” Right. Like he had NO clue.

“She got a sister?”

“Piss off.” He began texting.

**  
_8:11PM 7/12/20_ ** _  
Ill go bck there n fold u in half I fcking swear_

__

__

_  
_

**Baby Girl  
8:12PM 7/12/20**  
Come and get me, Daddy.

 **Baby Girl  
8:12PM 7/12/20**  
Oh wait. You can’t. LMAO

 **Baby Girl  
8:13PM 7/12/20**  
Love you <3

 **  
8:11PM 7/12/20**  
Love u too 

You were finding ways to test his resolve always. As long as you don’t start sending him pictures, he’d be fine. You could be such a pain in the ass, you drive him _mad_ , but hell, he does the same. And actually, one time he did go back there on his lunch break and fuck you senseless. You remembered it with your teeth catching your lower lip, how he picked you up and brought you into a side room; locked the door, put you on a table and literally _did_ fold you in half and fucked you raw. Whenever you have sex with Miche, you’re a wreck by the end, 100%. Every thrust shoves your entire body, and he can pull you into any position that struck his fancy with very minimal effort. 

Incidentally, the noises that sometimes escape him are almost enough to finish you on the spot, but that night he railed you so hard from your taunting that you had to sink your teeth in his shoulder to prevent from moaning or crying out with every harsh thrust.

THAT was some awesome backstage sex. You would like a repeat, but it takes a bit to rile him enough to the point he doesn’t care about foreplay. He’s happy to take his time, the man gets off on eating you out. He loves the way you smell in general, but when you’re aroused? Oof. Miche can tell when you’re horny by being _in the same room,_ whether or not you’ve made an indication. He claims it has nothing to do with your pussy scent. The man just knows, and about eight times out of ten he’ll gravitate towards you and be interested in doing somethin’ about that.

Since you don’t have the same olfactory…strength, shall we say, you have to get up close and burrow into his chest or push your nose into his hair to get a good whiff of him. Miche is in an eternal state of maintaining a very light scent as a side effect of having such an acute sniffer. He prefers to smell like next to nothing. What you tend to get is the scent of soap, a hint of spice, something musky, and the vaguest hint of citrus. 

He smells like home to you. Climbing into your man’s arms and lazing about with him, enveloped in everything that he is…that is a perfect day. Perhaps fuck a few times, share a bath, order out. You both get enough of the club scene when working. Occasionally he works security at more professional establishments. Miche said he’d go to doing that more once you’re done with exotic dancing. You told him he should start now if he has the chance…you trust Levi, who’s usually there. Levi can watch the stage by his lonesome. Nobody tries him. He has this ‘I will fucking kill you dead’ aura about him, despite his stature.

You watch Isabel in her Huntress costume transition from a floor routine to the pole and check the time, moving to get a touch up on your hair and makeup before getting back into the rotation to dance a number with a couple others. Your next one would be with Christa as Black Canary. 

When your turn came up again Miche had already been back out at his post, a living, breathing wall between some very drunk average joes and your tight little body; which he was dreaming of doing horrible things to with some of the moves you pulled. 

The night passed in usual fashion, with you arriving home a bit before he did. It’s the early hours of the morning, Miche stayed back to help with moving a passed-out drunk from the men’s bathroom before driving home, kicking his boots off, hanging up his keys, and noticing that he could hear water running.

A shower?  
He smirked.

Sure enough he saw steam filling up the bathroom, with your locks sticking damp to your back. He removed his own clothing and slipped in behind you, pulling your back to his front. “Well helllloooo to you too, sexy." You grinned and pushed your ass back into his upper thighs and cock, hips undulating expertly. "Hey." A growl, and those large hands would knead your breasts before thumbing your nipples, which would respond to his touch and perk up for him. Miche ran his tongue over his teeth before leaning down and biting your ear and tugging. “You were bad today, baby girl.” He rumbled close to your ear. As one hand continued to attend a breast, his other stole down to stimulate your clit.

You stopped rubbing on him with a soft hiss, which is about when he started with two fingers inside, beginning to pump after testing how soaked you were. Well...you had been talking about being aroused before, and a couple texts since you got home indicated that was true yet again. While you pushed against him, he laughed thunderously. “We’re going to need another shower after this one.” He remarked, feeling your walls pulse experimentally around his digits, beginning to shift your hips down into his hand in a need for friction. That alone was encouragement enough. Miche was too impatient right now. He couldn’t wait longer, he wanted to make you scream.

So he turned you around, lifted your body up into his arms and kissed you while roughly guiding the tip into your entrance, waiting one nerve-wracking second before thrusting in with a dark grin than made you throw your head back with a cry. “AAAAH!!!” You felt your skull bump the shower wall, but not too forcibly where it hurt, he leaned back enough to give you space. Once your body relaxed he put your back up against the cold wall again and began a hard, wild rhythm. “Say it for me, baby girl.”

“Ugh, M-miche…” You moaned, only to get him buried hilt-deep and held in place, pausing and getting nose to nose. “Huh." He hummed. "That doesn’t sound right. It begins with a ‘D’, right?"

“Oh god, Miche, move…please…” You squirmed around him, but he leaned down and bit a favorite spot, sucking and claiming it; as is his ritual during sex. He begins to pull out, earning a whimper at the increasing sensation of emptiness. He wasn’t going to let you off easy. You _did_ promise.

Ugh, damn your smart mouth. You didn't have the will to resist and breathed the words he wanted to hear. _“Fuck me, Daddy.”_

He slammed straight back in and you arched with another scream, yelping when he adjusted his angle barely enough to ram the spot that made you cry out for him _every single time_ he hit true. He knew exactly where that spot was, he had it dead center for a year. Your body can nearly adjust to his rhythm, but you can’t hardly wrap your head around the idea of tucking your legs about his frame. Miche's grunts and growls vibrate into your body at point-blank. It’s all you can do to plunge a pair of fingers down and rub yourself, and not long before you’re panting helplessly and soon to come undone. His thrusts have become too erratic, your walls are constricting him to completion.

“I’m going to…I’m gonna…” You groan, spasming around his member to the point where he was blinded by his own release a second later. “Oh god…” You breathed, hoping he wasn’t suddenly feeling too weak. There were pulses and twitches resonating inside where you remained united, the liquid seed mixed with your slick made you feel a bit warmer down within. You weakly plan to go later for a morning-after pill. Though on birth control, it never hurts to have a plan. Condoms always break with Miche, so you stopped asking him to wear them, and he was happy to comply.

Sitting on the shower floor now, you straddled his lap and shared kisses in the steam, glad to have hot water on demand. You were now starting to feel pink and overheated, as though spending too long in a sauna or hot tub. “I love you.” He murmured over the water patter, and you smiled. “I love you too.” You settled against him and he reached up to turn the warmth of the water down to a cooler temperature.

You stared at the grey subway tiles beaded with moisture, turning your cheek against your boyfriend’s shoulder and nestling into the crook of his neck to place tiny little kisses. He smiled; a muscular arm propped about your frame.

“Babe?”  
“Hm~”  
“Marry me?”

A bigger grin. He felt it against his skin.  
_“Fuck yeah_ I’ll marry you.”

He lifted your chin and kissed you, a smooch that you affectionately returned. “I love you, Miche Zacharias. Don’t you forget it.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop shaking your ass for other guys?”

“Don’t push it, Daddy.”


End file.
